Anspgelike 3 Chavs, Rappas and Angels
by SlashAS
Summary: Spike and Angel discuss musical interests. Angel suddenly decides that he would like to become a chav, but why?


Anspgelike 3

Burberry Angel.

Angel: You know what Spike?

Spike: What?

Angel: Sometimes life is just so boring without.

Spike: And how do I know what you're going to say is gonna be interesting?

Angel: A bit of a noise in the background.

Spike: Now that's more my kind of way of thinking.

Angel: And I don't mean your voice interrupting me.

Spike: A bit of a holler and a shout never hurt anyone

Angel: See what I mean.

Spike: Well maybe I can just make this conversation.

Angel: Of interruptions

Spike: More exiting.

Angel: Can I have the floor now?

Spike: Who said

Angel: Thank you

Spike: You couldn't ?

Angel: Before you started your little shouting game I was just going to say that I wish we had some music to brighten up the office.

Spike: Well the paint's nice, er sunrise yellow's not my type, but it's nice.

Angel: It's not sunrise yellow it's canary yellow.

Spike: Same thing to me, but I suppose you're wanting to bring Bob Ross in just to tell me straight to my face what colour it is.

Angel: That kind of was the plan.

Spike: Oho, just so you can win something for a change is it?

Angel: No I just want to get his autograph.

Spike: I guess the Da Vinci Code phase has worn off then?

Angel: That was a great painting.

Spike: I'm talking about a film dumbass.

Angel: Okay expert. Why don't you just ask to guest star on Watercolour Challenge.

Spike: Well you're just sad enough to watch stuff like that in HD aren't you?

Angel: And you're still in the Technicolor era.

Spike: Well The Errol Flynn Robin Hood was good enough for me, Prince of Thieves. I mean, Byran Adams makes one crap Robin Hood Don't you think so?

Angel: I like Bryan Adams. By the way he's a singer, not an actor you idiot.

Spike: Well I've only seen the music video.

Angel: And that's why your application to be a film critic for Los Angles Independent Film Magazine was rejected.

Spike: You've been reading my mail?

Angel: Company policy.

Spike: That's a breach of my privacy that is. Get me my lawyer.

Angel: Gunn's your lawyer.

Spike: And he works for you, shit.

Angel: The Corporates always win.

Spike: The Harlem Globetrotters always win, you just cheat.

Angel: And Spike is the expert in cheating?

Spike: Well wasn't it I who showed you the ropes?

Angel: Yeh, good times.

Spike: And then you got that pretty little soul of yours and it made you into a nancy boy.

Angel: Hey.

Spike: And the kitties don't cry no more cos Angel the big cat's in the city, but he's not on the prowl any more. He want's to cuddle them and save them from the demons.

Angel: That's my duty.

Spike: And you ain't gonna win at cards anymore if you ain't gonna keep the booty. You see noone will have you in their game any more.

Angel: Viscious fiends.

Spike: Oh I can just imagine it. Run free my little kitties, run wild but don't hunt for your food cos that's cruel. 

Angel: So?

Spike: You'd teach them to buy cat nip from the supermarket, put it in little packets and shove it in the fridge. 

Angel: Oh and then you'd tell them that you've got to put it in the microwave because if it's not at the right temperature then it's like drinking from the dead.

Spike: And you'd be telling me that before I told them.

Angel: Well now the question becomes, which one of us is more evil?

Spike: Er that would be me cos er I wouldn't teach the kitties how to swim and I'd put them in a bag.

Angel: I've killed more.

Spike: Yeh right, but I laughed while you killed everyone, er except the ones when I was just a figment of Mr God up there's imagination.

Angel: And then you'd help yourself to a bite of my pie after I'd finished with it.

Spike: Like the mother lion giving her kiddies a bunch of scraps.

Angel: And when you've finished putting the kiddies in a bag, you can donate them to Santa Claus and he can deliver them to.

Spike: Devour all the kids in the city.

Angel: To kids as pets.

Spike: Now that's what I call bloody irony.

Angel: And why is that ironic?

Spike: You claim to be all Mr evil and you'd go about it setting up a pet shop, now that's Disney talk.

Angel: The music is really good in Disney.

Spike: So is the music in the exorcist.

Angel: Any ideas for background music for the lobby?

Spike: Bloody hell, what are you trying to do? Turn this place into a bloomin supermarket?

Angel: Attention all customers, please exacuate the store cos I sense a major pummelling is about to come Mr Spike's way.

Spike: I'm sure Gunn has got something perfect for the lobby, cos that's the only music I see around this place.

Angel: Good idea, lets have a look shall we?

Angel opens Gunn's CD cabinet.

Spike: Well, well, well, look who's raiding the CD cabinet for a change, we really are getting humanised aren't we?

Angel: It was you who said "Oh I'm sure Gunn has something perfect for the lobby", do you ever stop criticising?

Spike: Let's just say it's what I like to do as a hobby.

Angel: Pretty exiting hobby.

Spike: Why thank you, and what's that I see shining in that hot little hand of yours?

Angel: A little something for the lobby.

Spike: 50 Cent, how priceless?

Angel: Gunn bought this the other day I Wonder what it's like?

Spike: Give it a try, you don't know what's gonna happen until you tries it, didn't your parent's ever teach you that?

Angel: Well.

Spike: Oh , I forgot that you ate them all.

Angel: Sorry

Spike: Why don't you tell them that?

Angel: I don't know where they live.

Spike: Oh come on, speak to the ground.

Angel: I don't know where they're buried.

Spike: Even I know where my Mum is.

Angel: You dusted her, I know.

Spike: She's in the bin, last time I saw her anyways. Now wouldn't they be in your family tomb somewhere?

Angel: I kind of left in a hurry, I didn't care back then.

Spike: Now do you want to put that CD on?

Angel: Where's the machine you put it in?

Spike: It's on top of the cabinet.

Angel puts the disc into the CD player, "In Da Club by 50 Cent plays"

Spike: So what do you think?

Angel: I really like it, it's bit loud though.

Spike: You really have the worst taste in music imaginable, first it was opera, Giselle or summat or other, and Swan Lake really was the last snoro. 

Angel: What type of music is this then?

Spike: It's R and B, Hip hop, or Urban. I really couldn't tell you, cos I don't listen to crap like this.

Angel: Well, that's your opinion.

Spike: Opinion is the very thing that holds this nation together.

Angel: But in this case your opinions are too varied to count

Spike: I'm not meaning in the political whatchamacallit

Angel: Sense

Spike: Now we're going places, you see opinion is the very thing that holds the corporate structure of LA law together. Whatever the opinions of Mr Angel are, that's what everyone else has to believe.

Angel: Now how many times have we run over this same accusation?

Spike: I seem to have lost count.

Angel: Look I don't care what you say as long as you do as I want you to.

Spike: Yeh you really don't care what I have to say, but I really have to say that I think this music is rubbish.

Angel: Let's see what you think of the next track then?

"I'm locked up" by Akon plays.

Angel: I know this one, it was on the radio yesterday.

Spike: Since when did you ever listen to the radio other than to listen to the war report in the 40s?

Angel: Good old days in the navy eh?

Spike: I didn't like that sub one bit, I quite liked the idea of being mistaken for a Nazi though, but my hair has seen better days.

Angel: Why did you dye it brown?

Spike: To look more like Hitler

Angel: And the trademark?

Spike: Stole it off Charlie Chaplin, he did, and my leather pants just didn't add up to the clown look so I decided to give it a miss.

Angel: Plus the German didn't like the whole cane idea.

Spike: Particularly since his Mummy must have whooped his arse with old Stripy plenty of times. That's what the cane was called in our house anyway.

Angel: I don't remember mine, I hit my dad with it more than he did me I guess.

Spike: His paintings were so crap that he'd have been whooped for not bringing enough money home. 

Angel: (sings) He was locked up and he wrote Mine Kampf he wrote Mine Kampf. It was sick and they wouldn't let him out, they wouldn't let him out.

Spike: Those aren't the words.

Angel: I'm just making them up, cos I only heard the tune whilst you were chatting about that human without a soul.

Spike: Don't lyrics in urban music incite us to idiotic nonsense?

Angel: What are you on about? I am actually now hearing the words and they are telling me quite a sad story of a guy who is in jail and can't get out.

Spike: Yes the words of the chorus that are repeated constantly certainly echo that, but the rest is just ah ah yeh yeh check it and then they bring in a bunch of so-called hot mammas into the video so they can tell them to shake dere asses over and over again.

Angel: Well the general public like repetition.

Spike: Yes the general public of the chavs.

Angel: Huh?

Spike: English to Irish-American transalation is Chav: A person who likes urban music, wears lots of gold jewellery and burberry, cheap trendy clothes, stereotypically associated with crime and lack of taste.

Angel: Cheap trendy clothes?

Spike: Do I have to explain everything in 50 or more words, you're just like a essay competition.

Angel: Well?

Spike: Sports stuff with a hint of Fred Perry, now is that any better?

Angel: Thesaurus entry?

Spike: You are really starting to annoy me Angel, Chav: Hoodie, Loiterer, Mugger, Trouble causer and sorry I missed out the first entry ASBO.

Angel: You're so biased.

Spike: Well now the whole Iraq thing has slightly started to waiver, the groups on the music scene are no longer in united harmony against the war, we've gone back to our gang warfare. The Goths have formed an alliance with sweaties and my group the punks aswell and we are going all out to convert Chavs to good taste.

Angel: You sound like a Monk.

Spike: And all the Chavs say is destroy destroy destroy.

Angel: Daleks.

Spike: So you have been watching my Dr Who videos then? I agree Chavs are like Daleks, the dumbness level is quite the same.

The next track on the CD plays, it is SOS by Rhianna.

Angel: I guess I'm a Dalek then cos this song has certainly got a hold of me.

Spike: Another rip off.

Angel: No

Spike: It is a rip off of Tainted Love, It makes me twist and turn and not be able to sleep at night, same tune, same lyrics for the catch. Soft Cell has caught you. 

Angel: Aha, but Soft Cell also ripped off Tainted Love which was originally released as a Jazz song.

Spike: But at least they made it better, this is worse.

Angel: Aren't you glad that I am finally developing an interest in modern music.

Spike: Nope, cos you're still not on the coolness level. Did you know that Barry Manilow is driving Chavs away from carparks?

Angel: Oh no, how could the two biggest musical interests in my life be in such conflict?

Spike: A bit of conflict never hurt anybody, and it is this and only this example which I and the Hip Hop etc community actually agree on. Barry Manilow is the most boring musician on planet Earth and the Yongan dimension.

Angel: The Westlife cover of his song Mandy was okay.

Spike: Oh and Westlife are the worst band ever to spring from the Land of Angelus, erm apart from Bewitched. Too Willow for the likes of me.

Angel: Tabby from X Factor pissed me off, I loved those videos of it you ordered from England, I wanted him to win and he didn't.

Spike: Oh you patriotic basterd.

Angel: There's nothing wrong with being patriotic, you like God Save the Queen.

Spike: Which is sarcastic, you know nothing of pragmatics.

Angel: What? You using terminology, don't make me laugh.

Spike: You're forgetting that I used to be a poet.

Angel: Oh yeh, and a really good one too.

Spike: Thank you.

Angel: Think of the pragmatics behind that reference.

Spike: Hey, you sarcastic little.

Angel: (Sings) SOS something something something rescue me.

The CD changes to "The Real Slim Shady" by Eminem.

Angel: Oh I was just getting into that.

Spike: Oh no.

Angel: What?

Spike: This is another song written by urban illiterates.

Angel: Maybe they should use the words from one of your poems.

Spike: I did get good applause on poetry night.

Angel: But didn't you realise that half the room were drunk and most of the people were watching the superbowl.

Spike: Have you ever listened to Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks, Ramones, UK Subs, or anything like that?

Angel: No.

Spike: Maybe you should, it will take your mind off baseball.

Angel: I like this music.

Spike: Yes you like the mystery of wondering just who is the Real Slim Shady, now listen to music that will actually make you think.

Angel: Okay.

Spike: You need a better record player for a start, it looks like a rusty old grammaphone conversion. Let's jazz it up a bit.

Angel: And just how do you expect to do that?

Spike shows Angel a tin of black paint in the corner.

Angel: We are trying to brighten up our sprits with music, not make us feel like we're in a funeral home.

Spike: Oh quit whining and pass me that skull stencil.

Angel: You were never the artsy type were you?

Spike: Your words will calm your impressionist views and freehand ways.

Angel: Duh?

Spike: At least by using this free stencil I got from out of a magazine they will actually look like human remains and not something out of a "Let's learn Geometry part one for Dummies" book.

Angel sighs.

Angel: This is a bit too spooky for the likes of me.

Spike: Well we are spooks.

Angel: In a kid's imaginary way yes, in reality we've set our hearts too much upon atonement to be scary anymore, unless you like to mess with us.

Spike: When we're more spooky than the swastica itself.

Angel: Is there ever a time, not even once, when I don't have to say this?

Spike: And just what is that?

Angel: You're sick Spike.

Spike: I'm not changing my ways just so that I can fit in with your crowd of LA-tter Day Saints. 

Angel: And what's this so called music that you want me to listen to?

Spike: Something to change your mannerisms and convert you to my lifestyle.

Angel: I did hear what you just said then, and I think that it's you who's trying to be all Mormon on me.

Spike: If I'm a Mormon, then you're a moron.

Angel: Is that so? Well then maybe I should listen to your songs of praise.

Spike: Okay

Spike puts "Highway to Hell" by ACDC on the stereo.

Angel: I knew it, you're trying to summon the members of ACDC to take away my soul.

Spike: What are you on about?

Angel: They used to be members of an occult gang of highwaymen back in the 1790s.

Spike: What a load of rubbish.

Angel: It's true.

Spike: Oh I can just imagine it, Stand and Deliver, give us all your money and your jewels and yeh we'll take all your clothes too, and by the way, would you like to buy a copy of our latest album. Stop lying.

Angel: They we're riding through the forest one day and as you said they said Stand and Deliver, but they were unfortunate enough to target such innocent victims as myself and Darla.

Spike: So you let them go did you?

Angel: Well we did turn them and we made them our slaves for a week and then we sold them to Pete Waterman. He owned a theatre back then you know.

Spike: Pete Waterman isn't their manager, in fact you don't really hear much of them these days.

Angel: He was back then. You know how the music industries constantly swapping and changing slaves for ready cash, and all other kinds of dodgy deals, it all happens behind the scenes. That's why you can never get backstage passes unless you're some kind of freak.

Spike: So that's why you could get a VIP pass for Westlife and I couldn't.

Angel: No I stole it from a Groupiemungus Demon actually.

Spike: Oh right, listen to all this then, fandom fangs.

Spike plays short samples from a selection of Cds, all are punk tracks.

Angel: You know what Spike?

Spike: What?

Angel: I think you've converted me.

Spike: Hurray,

Angel: I feel like assassinating the president and chaining myself to a tree outside.

Spike: Go ahead and do that then, but you never see me doing that sort of stuff.

Angel coughs.

Spike: Okay, there was that time that I chained myself to a lampost during that BSE scare, you know when they first mentioned it in the 80s.

Angel: You wanted some cow blood and they wouldn't give you any at the butchers shop until they got the all clear and why didn't you want human blood?

Spike sighs

Spike: Okay I don't think there's any way that I can lie myself out of this one so I'll be straight with you. The First was sending waves of energy through my mind at the time and that stupid guy with the harmonica wouldn't stop playing that damn song and well, you know how you sometimes get tremors before an earthquake, well that was a tremor, but 20 years in advance, in fact I'd not figured it out until I spoke to Giles on the phone yesterday.

Angel: How does he know you're alive, and why can't I speak to Giles?

Spike: They all know I'm alive or should I say existing, even Buff, you know how word spreads round via that snitch.

Angel: Andrew?

Spike: Yeh that's who I'm talking about.

Angel: But why won't Giles talk to me?

Spike: Because you're a ponce and you make bad decisions against Watcher's council policy. Like taking over Wolfram and Hart.

Angel: I'm so depressed I'm going to my room to look out of the window and view the sunset.

Spike: Can I join you?

Angel: No

Spike: Fine, I'll look out of my window then.

Angel: You don't have a window.

Spike: I do now.

Angel: How?

Spike: I get access to all Wolfram and Hart's contacts including builders and I got some window fitter's in to make me a window out of that special glass.

Angel: That costs money.

Spike: And micro waving blood sends out masses of wasteful energy, that makes us even.

Angel: You also microwave your.

Spike: That makes us even more even then.

Angel: Enjoy the sunset, cos it's the last one you'll ever see.

Spike: Stop quoting Hollywood.

Angel: I'll be back.

Angel goes upstairs

Spike: Yeh Asta La Vista baby.

Spike is in his room and is looking out of the window.

Spike: What a wonderful sight, first time in over a hundred years and it's exactly how I remember it apart from that arsehole's shed and those big massive trees on 6th Avenue blocking my view, and not to mention the bloody skyscrapers. Come on, can't the dearly departed at least enjoy the confines of his mass grave on the balcony with a beer? Oh and those workmen are such rookies, the paint's been left three hours and it's still not dry, bloody cowboys. Angel!

Angel rushes through the door

Angel: Yo

Spike: Yo what? 

Angel: What up?

Spike: Your so-called Wolfram and Hart experts have made a complete mess of my room, the paintwork can only be called crummy and you call this a window?

Angel: It's a window innit?

Spike: It's too small, you've really put the nails in my coffin this time.

Angel: You want me to break yous out me man, I got big brick I can throw through it.

Spike: Is there something wrong with you?

Angel: What are yous on aboot?

Spike: Your voice it's….different.

Angel: There it nothing nutin' wrong wit ma voice you scumbag.

Spike: Well Iv'e never heard nobody talk like that before, except, maybe that poor Ali G impersonator at the bronze.

Angel: Damn.

Spike: I suggest you work on your act.

Angel: Erm

Angel rushes out of the door and back up to his room.

Spike: Ponce.

Spike is in the Wolfram and Hart Lobby.

Spike: What's wrong with Angel wings all of a sudden, oh and look at this floor, dirt everywhere, really he doesn't employ well. Bloody immigrants.

Angel comes down stairs with a blanket over his head.

Angel: And are t'we both immergrant too?

Spike: No, we are migrants.

Angel: But we cool runnings from da Slayer remember. So refugee.

Spike: Until I took care of her yes, and I remember that I first came here looking for you. You know I do have a caring attitude, but you never really took the time to notice. And you still need vocal coaching.

Angel: Wat up wit you?

Spike: Nothing, what's wrong with you? Taking a morning stroll in the daylight are we, thinking of begging the sun to show mercy, the blanket and all?

Angel: Nope, I is not wanting to go outside cos o'cops afta me. I wanted to show you sumting.

Spike: What?

Angel removes his blanket to reveal a new look. He is wearing a Fred Perry hat, burberry scarf, tracksuit and a host of gold rings and chains. One of the gold chains clearly says ANGEL in large lettering. His expensive shirt is clearly visible underneath the cheap clothing.

Spike: Oh no, I knew it.

Angel: What do you think?

Spike: The chavs have come to invade America by storm.

Angel: I got all this stuff through my contacts last night, it's wonderful being the leader of a multi national.

Spike: Stupid and evil.

Angel: Corporation.

Spike: Of dickheads.

Angel sighs

Angel: If you say that again Mr Spike, I shall have you indicted for disrespecting the senior partners.

Spike: And their Chav scum. Can you do that?

Angel: I'm sure I can, I'll have to check with Wesley. If I can't then I'll think of something.

Spike: Really?

Angel: I can make up any law I want, by bribing the President etc, It's absolutely marvellous.

Spike: What happened to your voice? I thought you were going for a new image.

Angel: Mi froat were bungled and strangled up.

Spike: Just like in the 50s.

Angel: Shut up Spike.

Spike: Language Angel.

Angel: Pardon my French, not marvellous, I mean proper mint.

Spike: Yeh proper mint or whatever.

Angel: Whatever yeh

Spike: Now, are you going to sort out this mess?

Angel: Is it you think the windows are proper nesh?

Spike: What?

Angel: They is nesh in't they?

Spike: They're bloody crap yeh.

Angel: I'm not bothered

Spike: Well I am.

Angel: Do I look like I'm bothered?

Spike: No but you will when I've finished with you.

Angel: You wanna fight?

Spike: Yeh, with you and your corporate cronies, or whatever you throw at me, you chuffin wanker.

Angel: Is you dissin' ma posse?

Spike: No you are dissing Mohammed Ali G.

Angel: Is that all you bloody talk about?

Spike: Well I'm not too familiar with the urban scene all right.

Angel: I like 50 Cent

Spike: What like him or love him?

Angel: I love him

Spike: Go and imagine yourself in bed with him then.

Angel: You startin on me?

Spike: No

Angel: You wanna fight?

Spike: You really don't know anything about Chav's.

Angel: That's how we is.

Spike: Shut up and come into the real world, you idiotic scumbag, you sound like a pathetic schoolgirl who's just trying to fit in.

Angel: Aren't I just cool? I'm mega me.

Spike: It's a fashion. Not a culture to be mocked and exploited by people who don't understand it. It's like any club or whatever that you want to join.

Angel: Since when were you one to say that?

Spike: Since you became your own dictionary.

Angel: You've made me feel all rotten inside.

Spike: And you're rotten outside. Chav and classy shirt and tie don't mix sunshine.

Angel: Whoops, I changed too quickly.

Spike: So what are you going to do now?

Angel: Go back to Barry Manilow.

Spike: Bloody Hell

Angel: Oh and Spike?

Spike: Yeh

Angel: I'm doing some undercover work at D'Oblique tonight, so cover for me yeh.

Spike: Sure thing, but what are you going to do?

Angel: Well it's too late for me to change my act so I'll just have to do what I was gonna do anyway. It's urban night there tonight so.

Spike: Oh no, you'll make a big fool of yourself.

Angel: Bye, oh and watch my turf, cos I don't want anyone from eastside coming here, this is Westside territory okay.

Angel leaves.

Spike: Have a great time, and make a big, big fool of yourself, cos really I couldn't be bothered, cos it gives me a little time to play on Bulletproof.

.


End file.
